Dragons
by Embittered
Summary: One shot. Their relationship had the proclivity to be intense and passionate. As did their mistakes. Bitter attraction and bittersweet kisses. HPDM


**Dragons**

**A HP/DM one shot by Embittered**

_"**Beyond this point, there be dragons..."**_

_**The advice on the extremities of ancient maps, signalling the end of the known world**_

_Its cold in the dungeons. One would expect that their subterranean chambers inhabited by the more questionable aspects of the student body would be cold, draughty, chilly. But its worse then that. The cold is like wind whipping across tender bared skin, like the bite of glass on flesh, like intravenous ice flooding through your body, circulating, poisoning._

_In the dungeons loneliness is that cold, that ominous chill. And I am always cold. Once I was warm, but that comfort is but a fleeting memory of what was once something, fleeting memory of a lovers caress, solace in his arms. Ephemeral memories I can't hold for fear of breaking them. Like I was broken. And now I am cold.--Draco Malfoy_

Harry was not familiar with the dungeons at all, the only class he attended there was Potions and given his extreme dislike for the subject he was not taken to loitering around in Slytherin territory where run ins with Snape were imminent. But he had promised Draco he would meet him and he saw no reason to fear the chill and cold stone walls when the promise of a clandestine meeting with Draco warmed him. He waited around the entrance to the common room, effaced, invisible to all who would cast their eyes upon his veiled figure. His fathers cloak was a blessing. Though Harry wondered if James would approve of its integral part in maintaining a secret affair with a Malfoy.

The portrait hole opened, and Draco emerged with a self-assured grace, casting his eyes about for any lingering observers. Once he had assured himself that the coast was clear, he nodded in the direction he presumed to find Harry, before striding off towards the stairs. This was the way they always met. Owl post, disguised as Quibbler subscriptions would dictate a time and place. It was always different lest anyone picked up their routine and discovered them. Harry would wait for Draco at the mouth of Slytherin common room, invisible at all times. He would follow Draco to the rendezvous point, before revealing himself. But this time was different. They had not spoken for two months, a simple lover's tiff had culminated in mutually expressed fears of insecurity and ill-founded love. Both regretted their haste.

Draco opened the door to one of Filch's many disused broom-closet, though this one had been magically enlarged to the size of a small classroom. He closed and magically sealed the door. He swirled around.

"You got explaining to do, Potter."

Air parted and separated as Harry Potter pulled away his Invisibility cloak, rendering his presence tangible. Glasses hid tumultuous feelings in verdant eyes. His apparition left Draco momentarily breathless.

"This has got to stop, Draco."

Draco feigned an indifference much practised in their younger years. "What has got to stop?"

Eyes narrowed. "Don't be obtuse.You know precisely what I mean."

"Fine." Draco spat with a vigour fuelled more by barely controlled lust then irritation. "Why has it got to stop." He threw himself in the nearest chair and awaited Harry's explanation. Harry watched his antics.

"I don't want to have to do this anymore Draco. I'm sick of hating you. I did it for six years. I'm more then aware of my mistake, I don't see reason to repeat it."

"No one asked you to hate me." Draco said quietly. Whether he was referring to their current predicament or to the lingering scars of past transgressions Harry didn't know. But he did know that his feelings for the blonde boy, watching him so avidly from the desk chair opposite would not go away. And that is what he had feared.

When Harry and Draco had first managed to get over their hesitance and doubt, thrown aside all previous notions of adversary, along with the taint of familial tension and opposing sides, their relationship had been fiery, passionate and volatile. Not just physically. Love Harry had been withheld during his childhood, love Draco had been deprived from his father as he was moulded to suit his name and inheritance, was now willingly given and received, both taking from each other what they so sorely needed without understanding the implications of reciprocation. They were selfish and their absorption made them intense.

Ron and Hermione had noticed. Harry was more withdrawn from them, taking to slipping out into the castle late in the evening. They let him do so with little interrogation because that was what they did. Loyalty made them blind.

Draco had no one to take notice of his change, save Severus Snape who put it down to adolescent experimentation and rebellion. However he had no idea precisely who Draco was seeing.

They would slink back into their respective dormitories, smelling of each other and of their encounters and would sleep, not fitfully as they had before. Because exhaustion and passion kept night time demons at bay. Until privately in the delusional recesses of their minds they began to doubt and question. Such paranoia was borne of the world in which they lived, the trust that had been broken. Extended hands that had been ignored.

Products of a cruel untrusting environment, they lost their faith in each other and in the integrity of their own feelings. Words were exchanged, blows were imminent but that would only bring contact, and attraction between them was still rife. Better to hurt now on your own terms, then to be betrayed and blindsided.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy broke up.

And no one knew that they had even been together in the first place.

Harry had moped and put on and outward facade of normalcy, and Draco showed no open change. But separation had allowed them to fully understand what they had, and what they had lost. What was once lust and anger became love. Seemingly unrequited.

And this was how they came to be in one of Filch's deserted brooms closets, on opposite sides of the room though there was no antagonism between them.

" I don't hate you. I never really have, I mean you were an arrogant git, and there were times where I could have gladly hexed you into oblivion, but I never hated you, not in the true sense of the word."

It dawned on Draco, that while Harry spoke not eloquent words of love and betrayal and hurt, his words were sincere. And if so, maybe his feelings were sincere as well.

"What do you want, Harry? What do you want?"

Draco's plea stabbed at Harry's heart, his tone so wretched, his face, for once not blemished with a sneer, was anguished and drawn. He was defeated. He had given Harry the chance to end it all and set things straight.

Not that things had ever been _straight_ for them.

"I want you Draco. I want you for my own selfish reasons and I want you for you. I want to take away all the pain. I want you to take away all my pain." Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes irritably behind his glasses. "I'm not making myself very clear." He muttered.

He did not hear Draco rise wordlessly from his chair and walk towards him. He was startled momentarily when he returned his glasses to his eyes only to find Draco standing before him, expression unreadable. He was holding his breath and didn't know it. A faint fluttery feeling lingered in the pit of his stomach and he felt like he had the first time Draco had kissed him. They were so close that

_(...and I want you you you. I want to take away all the pain...)_

Harry could count the blonde boys eyelashes. In an effort of supreme will, he looked Draco in the eyes. No longer was his gaze averted, no longer was he trying to hide the feelings he knew his eyes betrayed so well. Eyes of molten ice stared unflinchingly back at him from beneath long, fine, almost feminine lashes as he continued telling those eyes what he had said so poorly with his words.

Time slowed and swirled about them like sand of a lone breeze, just as intangible as the feelings that dictated their lives.

Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy line, Slytherin prince extraordinare closed the gap and kissed Harry Potter, The Boy Who Loved, scourge of the Dark Lord gently on the lips. Wounds of the heart were healed, differences were salved with a balm of physical contact and Harry kissed Draco back with the wicked abandon of someone deprived and denied. They kissed away the depravity of their world, made amends for their mistakes and repented for their sins.

Past the frontiers of propriety they kissed and were and felt together, and deep down it was all it had ever been. False reasons, and parents and histories and loyalties were nothing in the face of the end of the known world. There, there was the unknown. The possibility of dragons.

_Its quite bizarre really that for someone so intent on becoming anonymous should fall for a Malfoy, the most visible aristocracy in all of London. It even more bizarre that for someone who detests the Dark Art, someone _destined (_written with as much scorn as I can muster) to bring the end of the Second War should fall for a Malfoy, notorious for the expostes into dark magic. It's bizarre that I should fall for him at all. But it's completely normal for me to love him. -- Harry Potter_


End file.
